Poison
by umbrella-beach
Summary: Many years ago, Far, Far Away, Princess Fiona is trying to reveal her secret... but she has no idea what the king will do in order to keep her from exposing her curse - including threatening the mysterious stable boy who may know more than he lets on.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Shrek.**

Chapter 1

All was quiet outside the Poison Apple, though the sinister notes of the piano drifted through the walls and into the street. Princess Fiona pulled her cloak tighter around her, making sure her hood was covering most of her face. She looked around the empty street nervously, clearing her throat roughly for the thousandth time. She had to make it raspy so that no one would recognize it - which was difficult. She spoke in a lyrical soprano, and learning to mask it was hard. But it was necessary. She knew now what a huge mistake revealing her... other half could be.

Before she lost her courage completely, she pried the creaky door open with her olive-green fingers and stepped inside. There was a low hum of chatter from the patrons, exhaustion hanging in the air. She walked straight up to the bar; remembering which stool made the least amount of noise, she sat down.

"What can I get ya?" a deep, husky voice asked. She already knew it was the ugly stepsister - what was her name? Ginger? Doris? It didn't matter.

"Whiskey," Fiona said, the scratch of her voice burning her throat. "Straight." There was a deep rumbling noise, and after a moment Fiona realized the ugly stepsister was chuckling.

"It's alright, sweetheart, you don't need to pretend. I know who you are." Fiona's gut twisted into knots, and she ran her hand over her smooth auburn braid. "Is it that obvious?" she asked. She glanced around, waiting to see if anyone would look up and gasp. But everyone was busy talking, and listening to the somber tune Captain Hook played at the piano. He's pretty good, Fiona thought, for a guy with no hands. Suddenly, the ugly stepsister set the glass of whiskey down in front of her with a clink. She gripped the glass and swished its contents around, making a whirlpool at the bottom.

"Maybe not to anyone else, but I know you. Ella babysat you a few times, don't you remember? Ugh, you're making me feel old." Fiona's lips curved up the tiniest bit, and she savoured the burn of the whiskey as it went down. She used to cough and sputter after emptying the glass, but it slid down her throat easily now. After slamming it back onto the counter, she tapped her fingers, the green monstrosities, on the bar. The ugly stepsister was already reaching for the bottle before Fiona could ask for more.

"What I don't understand," Fiona said, "is why they don't just tell everyone. Wouldn't that be so much easier? People wouldn't react so terribly, would they?" The ugly stepsister surely knew it was a rhetorical question, but she answered anyway.

"Wouldn't they? Honey, who do you see in this bar," she poked the top of the counter with her finger, "that you see with your father every day?" Fiona sighed, taking a sip out of her newly filled glass.

"No one," she said.

"Exactly. He knows it'd be hell for you. He doesn't want that. Think about it - you don't belong here. Look at these losers." Fiona raised her head, glancing around the room of hardworking alcoholics, dwarves, thieves - she knew she had no place with them. But where else could she go? "Your father just wants the best for you. And trust me, pumpkin," she chuckled huskily, "this isn't it." Fiona grumbled incoherently to nobody in particular before nodding in agreement. As she reached for the money in her pocket, the ugly stepsister placed a warm hand fearlessly on her shoulder. "It's on the house, kid. Now, get home, before your old man finds out and has me beheaded." Fiona giggled a bit, and it felt like razors jabbing her throat. Before she left, she dropped a few shillings into Captain Hook's hat; she had never heard a tune so somber and delightful at the same time.

When he smiled at her, a few gold teeth shining in the torchlight of the bar, she returned it.

* * *

It was well past midnight when she got back to the castle. Careful not to disturb anyone, she slipped through the front gates quietly and entered the large foyer. She could feel the warmth that spread through the castle, and heard the crackling in the next room that meant there was a fire going.

"Well, you're home late." She nearly jumped out of her skin at her mother's soft voice, her hood flying off her head.

"I'm... I'm sorry, mom." Her voice was still raspy, and she imagined it smelled of whiskey. When the queen stepped around the corner and into the foyer, Fiona made sure to keep her distance. "It's alright, dear," she replied with a heavy sigh. Her mother knew, better than anyone, how hard it was for Fiona. _By night, one way, by day, another..._ "But you need to be back earlier. Your father was going to check on you—I had to pretend I was feeling ill just to keep him busy. You owe me one." Fiona smiled; subconsciously, she admired her mother's still-youthful face, alit in the oil lantern she held in her hand.

"Thanks, mom." The queen broke into a warm grin, but it quickly turned into a grimace. "Dear God, Fiona—have you been drinking?" Fiona's head drooped in shame, and it made her dizzy. "Go to sleep, now. You've got a big day tomorrow." She nodded at her mother, feeling disgraceful tears burning in her eyes. As she scurried to her bedroom, she pulled out her diary, flipping to the newest page.

But what could she write that she hadn't written already? She realized she wasted most of this journal with Prince Charming's name scrawled across the pages, little drawings of them on their wedding day filling up the lines. She shoved it back in her music box, flopping down onto her bed. When she wiped away the tears that spilled onto her cheeks, the moonlight made her skin glisten green. She sighed as she realized it wouldn't go away for a long time… _Thus shall be the norm__._

She took a breath as the last words of her curse echoed in her head.

'_Til you receive true love's kiss; then, take love's true form._


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Shrek.**

Chapter 2

The early morning sun woke Fiona, filtering in through her silky curtains. She grumbled, carefully sitting up. Her hangover was wretched. When she opened her eyes, she saw the first ray of light touch her emerald skin. The change washed over her; she radiated light all around the room, and then everything was still. She was human again. Normal.

"Fiona," her mother called outside her bedroom door. "Hurry and get ready—your riding lesson is starting soon." She took a deep breath, realizing that she felt better after the change. _I always do,_ she thought.

She took her time getting ready, leaving her hair down; it was easier to braid it back, but it was prettier this way. She placed her tiara on top of her head, and misted herself with her favourite perfume. She stopped by the kitchen to grab a scone before heading outside, smiling brightly at the chef. He appreciated the fact that Fiona ate everything he put in front of her, even some of the late-night experiments he concocted . . . she was always the taste tester. And every time there was a new dish introduced, there was no need to tell him, "It needs more salt," or, "There isn't enough flavour," because his dishes were perfect. King Harold found him a few years before Fiona was born, so he was like family.

"Fiona, Lillian's waiting for you with your new instructor," one of the waiters called out to her. "You'd better go now." Fiona nodded, finishing up the last of her scone. When she made it to the stables, the lawn was still a bit damp with dew. She kicked off her shoes, welcoming the cool feeling of the grass between her toes. Lillian was petting a white horse while the instructor, who had his back turned, adjusted another horse's saddle.

"Thank you for joining us, Fiona," her mother said in an irritated tone. Fiona stopped herself from rolling her eyes . . . though she wanted to, she knew it was rude. "Good morning, mom," she said instead.

And then the instructor turned around. His hair was a curly, dark mess on his head … but Fiona liked it. _Gives him character; _she thought. He wasn't unattractive, either—broad shoulders, green eyes. _Green._ Fiona cocked her head to the side. _Maybe the colour isn't so bad after all._ "I'm Simon," he said, introducing himself. His voice was deep, smooth. Fiona smiled charmingly, overwhelming him for sure. He swallowed, and Fiona could tell he was nervous. They all were—especially the new ones. _He probably doesn't spend all of his spare time with a princess, _she thought.

"Shall we get started?" Fiona asked, before Simon swallowed his tongue.

"Of—of course. Your horse is ready, Princess." She nodded, hoisting herself up and onto her sandy brown stallion. Simon led her into the trees, showing her a few techniques she might need if she ever went into battle. She didn't tell him that she already knew all the tricks—and more; she simply obeyed him, enjoying the satisfied smile on his face whenever she got a move right (which was every time). She hoped he didn't notice that—while he reached for his canteen, or stopped to bring out different weapons for her to try—she was sneaking peeks at him. His muscles were defined; they would be intimidating if he wasn't so warm and kind.

"If I may ask—where did you learn these tricks?" Fiona smirked.

"My dad hired a trainer when I was very young. Just recently, he decided to travel . . . his _highness_ still thinks I'm not ready for anything," she said sourly.

"Well, you seem pretty ready to me," Simon said. Fiona blushed. When they returned to the stables, Fiona turned to him shyly, leaning her back against one of the wooden doors. When his green eyes met hers, she felt like she was melting on the spot. _He's so handsome,_ she thought. Since she turned seventeen, her friends were already falling in love, planning weddings—Fiona just . . . couldn't. She assumed that, when the time came, her and Prince Charming would meet and immediately arrange the rest of their lives together. They're share true love's kiss, and it'd break this spell . . . the only thing keeping her from having a life.

She never admitted to anyone that she doubted he was even real.

"Do you . . . I mean, today's lesson wasn't very long. Do you think maybe you'd like to come back later? We can take a trail that's become a favourite of mine. It would be nice," she said in a rush. Her words embarrassingly jumbled together, and she broke into a sweat. Simon smiled, obviously catching the signs that she was just as nervous as him, and visibly relaxed.

"I would like that very much," he said quietly. There was a fire burning in his eyes. Fiona hadn't ever seen anything like it.

"Good," she said. Before she turned to go, he spoke again. "Fiona, you're bleeding!" It took a moment for her to register what he'd said; she liked the way her name sounded when he said it. This was the first time he called her by something other than "Princess," and she didn't want it to be the last. When her brow furrowed, she felt a sting above her left eyebrow. He rushed over to her, placing his hand on her cheek, and turned her face gently to the side so he could examine the wound. Suddenly, she felt dizzy. She had a feeling it wasn't from the gash.

"Oh—probably from one of the weapons. I thought I felt something graze my forehead . . ." Her voice trailed off. Simon wasn't looking at the cut on her face anymore. He held her gaze intensely; it was like he was trying to see _into _her. Part of her felt like he succeeded.

"You should get it cleaned up, Fiona," he said softly. They were standing so close, now. Inches apart. If she moved the slightest bit forward . . . .

"I'll see you around six, alright?" he asked. She nodded, and he turned to polish the saddles. While she walked back towards the castle for her afternoon tea, she planned out the evening in her mind. If they hurried, they could make it back before sunset.

She packed a cloak in her bag just in case.

* * *

After dinner, Fiona fidgeted nervously. In a few minutes, she'd be riding through the forest with Simon. The trail wasn't too long—it wouldn't take more than an hour to get back home. But she was still panicking; what if something happened? If getting back took longer than expected, she could . . . expose herself. The part of her that was . . . _an ogre._

She shrugged it off, collecting her things and heading out to meet Simon. She'd changed into a different dress: her favourite green one. The only one that didn't remind her of the spell. It was a beautiful, rich shade of jade, and there were crystals sewn into the bottom. When she walked, it glistened in the sunlight.

"You look lovely," Simon gushed when she arrived at the stables. "Thank you," she said, flashing him a smile. She watched his reaction; every time she smiled at him, it looked like he went into a nervous breakdown. She'd give anything to know what he was thinking.

"Follow me," she said, after they mounted the horses. He stayed right behind her while she found the trail, and then they rode side-by-side, pointing out animals and birds in the forest. After a while of companionable silence, Simon spoke.

"What are you doing tomorrow night, Princess?" Her chest contracted.

"Tomorrow night? Sleeping," she said quickly. She hoped he'd change the subject.

He chuckled softly. "I meant before then. Isn't the king having a ball? I figured you'd be going." She grimaced. Every year, her father hosted a masquerade ball, and this year was no different. It was supposed to start at nine . . . an hour after sunset. There was no way she'd be able to go. King Harold knew this, and he hadn't invited her. Just like always.

"I don't think I'm going," she said. "I . . . I hate all the attention. It's not fun for me." She hoped that was satisfying enough of an answer for him.

"Oh . . . alright, well if you change your mind, I'm going to be there. I'll be part of the entertainment, actually," he said. She raised her eyebrows in interest, encouraging him to elaborate.

"There's going to be live music . . . I play the fiddle," he said shyly. Her heart warmed. He raised his hand to run it through his hair, and she felt a compelling need to make it to the ball.

"I'll see what I can do." It was out of her mouth before she could think. Panic roared in her chest, and her hands became sweaty. She didn't know how she'd be able to go without being seen and recognized. But Simon reached his hand between the horses and captured hers, grazing it with his thumb. It burned her skin, in a good way, and she forgot what she was so worried about.

"Okay," he said. "It would be boring without you there. Maybe you should just wear a veil, so no one recognizes you." An idea flickered in Fiona's head.

"Good idea," she murmured. She was already forming a plan; she'd make it to the ball. She'd be able to see Simon play. She would be out in public.

At night.

She let excitement wash over her. _By night, one way, by day, another._ For once, the rules of the spell didn't bind her anymore.

They made her feel free.

**A/N: Ideas/predictions for the masquerade ball? :) Please review!**

**- UB**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Shrek. But Simon is mine :)**

Chapter 3

"You can do it, can't you? You're an excellent seamstress," Fiona said. She was trying to convince Lillian to make her a veil for the ball.

"I think it's a terrible idea, Fiona," she said.

That wasn't a "no."

"Please? I really want to see him play . . . ."

"Well . . ." Lillian paused. "If you want this done for the ball, I can't have any distractions." Fiona beamed at her. "Take all the time you need," she said, skipping out the door to meet Simon for her lesson. "And thank you!"

It was sunny outside, matching Fiona's mood completely. She knew if she wore just the right dress that covered just the right amount of skin, she'd be able to get away with it. The veil would be long, and a thick material—Lillian even promised she'd make sure the lights were dim at all times.

"Gooooood morning, Simon," she sang, skipping into the stables. He grinned at her, shaking his head a bit—she was bouncing on the balls of her feet, anxious to jump on the horse and start going. "Morning, Princess," he told her. There was a gleam in her eyes—she knew as soon as she looked in the mirror when she woke up. It was subtle, but there was an obvious difference in her step; something motivated her to stay optimistic and take on the day. _I'm happy,_ she thought. Something she hadn't truly felt in a while.

She knew it had to do with the way Simon was looking at her. How could it not? His dark, curly hair, messy but organized at the same time, glistened in the sunlight. His green eyes sparkled like gems, especially when his smile lit up his face. When they mounted their horses, she was still ogling him like—well, like a seventeen-year-old girl.

"Where do you want to go today?" he asked. Blinking a few times to come out of her daze, Fiona thought about the paths and trails she knew so well.

"It's up to you," she said sweetly, waiting for him to pick a direction.

"Which one's your favourite?" he asked. Fiona scrunched up her face, thinking about all the times she ventured out on her horse alone—something she wasn't allowed to do very often. She made sure she enjoyed it when the time came.

"Vernon Peak," she answered after a moment. It came off her tongue easily; sometimes, when Harold was busy or she was able to sneak around it, she went out to Vernon Peak at dusk and didn't return until morning. Not many people chose to hike there, so there was less of a chance of being caught as an ogre and recognized. She even found an old cottage and set up blankets and firewood to make it easier when she decided to stay there. A river was nearby, giving her easy access to bathe or wash her clothes. If she could, Fiona would live there—it felt a lot homier than the palace. She was never entirely comfortable there . . . she couldn't figure out why, but she didn't like the extra space. She preferred the snug atmosphere of the worn-down cabin.

"Why Vernon Peak?" Simon asked, bringing her out of her thoughts. _Why Vernon Peak?_ For a moment, she panicked. _Well, I can take my time when I ride through Vernon Peak. I know I won't scare any hikers going for a stroll in the forest, because there aren't any. But if there were, my green skin would probably freak them out._

"It's pretty," she told him aloud. He nodded briefly, giving her a squinty, lopsided grin in the afternoon sunlight.

"Vernon Peak it is, then."

* * *

After following the trail for a while, Simon suggested they stop to eat lunch. Fiona remembered the cottage, and told him it was only a few minutes north. When they arrived, he set up a blanket and the picnic basket he'd brought with him.

"I had the chef make the sandwiches this morning," Simon said. Fiona nodded weakly, glancing at the cabin. Something was out of place. She knew it looked different from a usual cottage, but she couldn't tell why—she had memorized every log, every crevice . . . but now that Simon was here, she was afraid he'd notice something out of place. She felt like bringing him into a piece of her . . . other half was revealing. Like he could see right through her human façade. "He said he used a new cheese this time," Simon muttered. "Some kind of original creation—Fiona, are you alright?"

She wasn't alright. It was a mistake to bring Simon here. He'd figure it out for sure.

"I'm fine," she said quietly, anxiously glancing at the cottage again.

"Huh," he said, his brows knitting together.

"What? What is it?" Panic bubbled in her chest. He knew. He had to. It was obvious, wasn't it?

"The windows—look. They're broken. There's glass all over the ground . . . ." His voice trailed off.

Fiona gasped. A distant memory tumbled back to her for a split second; she remembered that, some time ago during her stay in the cottage, she overslept. When she woke up a while after dawn, the windows were smashed through to the outside of the cabin. She never bothered cleaning up the mess.

"Oh—right. That's . . . that's weird." She nodded quickly—and then immediately regretted her response. She needed to stop being so jumpy, or she'd give something away for sure. _Change the subject,_ she thought to herself. "Oh! I meant to tell you," she said excitedly, "I'm going to the ball tonight." She grinned widely at him, and her heart skipped a couple beats when he beamed back.

"That's great! At least I'll get to see you—actually, I might try to fake an injury so I don't have to embarrass myself . . . I haven't been able to practice lately." He was blushing._ How adorable,_ she thought. _I bet he'll sound amazing. _"You should bring some earplugs, anyway," he told her.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said. When they finished eating, they rode back to the stables and talked about the ball. Simon would be performing a solo at midnight. That gave her three hours to stay away, putting her at even less of a risk.

"I'll be there," she promised him. Before she turned around to leave, he grabbed her hand, kissing it softly.

"If it isn't already obvious, I'll be really disappointed if you don't come," he said. She smiled at him, and he lowered her hand.

"I'll be disappointed if you don't play," she said. Strolling toward the castle, she ravished in the lingering sensation of his lips on her hand.


End file.
